She's well acquainted with the touch of the velvet handLike a lizard on a window paneThe man in the crowd with the multicoloured mirrorsOn his hobnail bootsLying with his eyes wide open while his hands are busyWorking overtimeA soap impression of his wife which he ateAnd donated to the National Trust

I need a fix 'cause I'm going down

Happiness is a a warm gunHappiness is a a warm gunHappiness is a a warm gunHappiness is a warm gun

Happiness is a warm gunHappiness is a warm gun

I need a fix cause I'm going downneed a fix cause I'm going downneed a fix cause I'm going downto the bits that I left uptown

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